Beloved Anatomy
by erudite quill
Summary: Remus muses on reasons he loves Nymphadora. Something I couldn't get out of my head, please read and review :D
1. Hands

Hands. Remus Lupin has always felt you could learn about a person by looking at their hands. His are covered in scars, betokening his lycanthropy, and usually dusty. He thinks that perhaps this comes from reading all of the old books in the Grimmauld Place library. Sirius' hands are calloused and rough, everyone in the house knows why. Molly's always have something she's cooking lodged under her fingernails, but the woman never seems to notice; this is something he finds endearing and incredibly motherly. Yet it's _her_ hands that interest him the most.

Nymphadora's hands are always the same. No matter how she morphs, smaller, taller, the hands are still the same size, same shape. Remus knows this, because he has spent time studying them when she's asleep; something she doesn't know. They don't seem to fit her personality, so small and dainty; the only attribute announcing Tonks is the bitten fingernails. She tried to mask them once, charming them to grow, but they looked silly, so she quit. Remus is glad; he finds the fact that she has that habit rather charming.

Sometimes they have rings on every finger. Sometimes they are covered in dust from tidying up her latest clumsy mess, or in dirt from a squabble with Death Eaters. Sometimes they even change hue when she is in disguise, but he would recognize them anywhere. He likes the way the rest of her is so clumsy, but when she does something with her fingers, play the piano, turn the pages of a book, twirl in his hair, there is nothing awkward or inept about them.

When they sleep, he watches her for hours on end; afraid that when he wakes, she might have disappeared, that this would perhaps be just a joke. How could she really love him? He studies her then; keeping his mental image of her up to date. It was that impression in his mind that would keep him from slowly going insane when he was out there, working for the Order. He will look at her small hands and smile until there were wrinkles of joy beside his eyes; making him seem so much younger, but this is the only time he ever shows it.

Chipped, multicoloured nail polish usually coats her fingernails, which only seems to emphasize in his mind the fact that she is so much younger than he; Nymphadora can tell when these thoughts are crossing his mind, for as soon as his eyes cloud over with grief, his brow creases with thought, and his lips form a frown, her small hand will creep into his and give it a reassuring squeeze.

And he will realize again how perfectly their fingers fit together.


	2. Feet

Nymphadora stands there and professes that she absolutely cannot dance, that if she does, she will probably do him permanent damage. It seems as though he might be feeling a little impatient with her, but in reality, he relishes the little arguments; for these were the trivial kind that one may have with a loved one, the kind that can always be forgiven and in turn forgotten.

She finally relents as he says he has a way and steps forward. Her toes become visible from underneath the hem of the long skirt she had worn to her mother's latest party looking like little grapes with the deep purple colour she has painted them. He smiles and she stands gently on his shoes as they twirl around the empty, silent room.

Nymphadora's toenails are usually coloured brightly as well, her favorites being that purple colour she received from Ginny a Christmas ago, and the bubblegum pink that matches her hair. He likes to sit beside her and read while she paints them, listening to her hum whatever was heard on the radio the night before incredibly out of tune. He likes the simple joys that are so easily taken for granted, and which one side of him feels he does not deserve.

Her feet, like her hands, are so small that if she wasn't so clumsy with them, she could scarcely be heard walking up behind you. She always wears huge boots to cover them when she goes out; but when at home, she walks around barefoot throughout the entire house, even in the wintertime. This he finds entertaining, as well as ethereal.

The floors of Grimmauld Place get exceptionally cold during the winter, and though Nymphadora seems immune to it as she gallivants around the kitchen or hallways, when she goes to sleep that's a completely different matter altogether. With a hatred of wearing socks while sleeping, she insists on sliding her cold toes underneath him for warmth. He pretends to hate it, frowns as she does so because it's expected, but in reality he savors that. It means companionship, a reminder that he _has_ someone who holds him throughout the night, even if their cold toes are freezing his ankles.


	3. Arms

Remus' favorite part of the day is coming home from wherever he's been, because she's always there to receive him with open arms. He loves that feeling, the feeling of someone holding him, actually happy to see him cross the threshold of their home. Especially when he's been gone, working for the Order underground and it's been near a month since she's seen him last.

Nymphadora's arms, no matter what shape, length or size they are, are always open for him. They are loving and warm, and more importantly, comforting. After a long time away, he knows that he can look at her wordlessly and she knows that he just wants to be held and told he's not like the beasts he has just been with, that he is more human than any of them and that she doesn't fear him.

She's already told him this in so many words; over and over again, that's how she was able to convince him he deserved to be loved and that he could love her. Now, now that they've been together there's no need for her to speak anymore on this subject. He will walk through that door, collapse tiredly on their bed and be reassured of those very things by the vocal embrace of her arms.

--------------------------------------------

**Sorry this one's shorter than the rest, but I couldn't think of anything else, and I think that that got the point across :D**


	4. Eyes

Nymphadora's eyes remind Remus of kaleidoscopes. He can recall as a child receiving one for Christmas from an uncle and looking in it for hours. He can do the same with her eyes. He'll never grow tired of them as he did the toy, for they don't have a staid amount of combinations. She uses this as entertainment for the children when they're visiting on holiday, changing various parts of her face in mockery of those they don't like, it's always been the younger ones who enjoy her eyes. Until Remus of course. He watches as she sits on the couch beside one of their mutual friends. This friend has a small daughter, about two years old he believes but cannot be sure as he doesn't have a reason to remember, Nymphadora usually does that for him.

He watches as Nymphadora places the girl in her lap, laughing and looking down at her and changing her eye colour from the pastel blue the girl is wearing, to the green of the couch, to the pink of the walls. The girl laughs and he smiles at the scene he's watching, something pulling at his heartstrings he hasn't felt in a very long while.

Nymphadora doesn't care about matching, which is something he loves about her. She could be very happy walking out of the house with red hair and violet eyes. She's worn her eyes every colour of the rainbow, delighting in the horrified expressions of Molly Weasley at the more red-shifted colours, and enjoyed the way she can make them match her favorite navy blue sweater exactly. He's watched her stand in front of the mirror and grin as she decided what colour they were going to be, and he's enjoyed every moment of it. From turquoise to violet, from emerald to coffee.

He thinks they're beautiful no matter what colour they are.

When they're at home, not going somewhere, just sitting reading or drinking tea or talking, she usually matches her eye colour to his, staring at his intently so she can get every detail correct. He finds this strangely endearing, and loves that more than any exotic, strange colour she can come up with, for when he looks at those eyes on her, they're not full of pain or sadness or grief but happy and vibrant, the way he wishes his could be.


	5. Legs

Nymphadora's legs have always been somewhat of a mystery to Remus. She seemed to enjoy toying with them, changing the way her muscles looked when she was in a skirt, or in shorts, or even just when she was dressed for a mission. He could sit and watch her in front of the mirror for hours, deciding which way she liked better.

When on a mission, or just lounging about in the house, she makes them more muscular, as if to show a threat towards whomever she might be fighting (but secretly, when just at home, she prefers the way they look, and likes not being so into a perfect appearance). He finds it amusing that that would be her favorite of looks, that the woman who has the powers to make her exterior completely flawless instead of succumbing to the peer pressure of supermodel look-alikes makes herself so completely opposite.

What he finds the most curious about the different shapes, lengths and sizes, is that they always seem to fit around him perfectly when she leaps into his arms, or when they are engaged in other activities. He never asks however, for to him that would be like finding out how a muggle magician levitates his assistant, or can throw knives without hitting anyone.

It would lose its novelty; he wouldn't have to wonder anymore.

And that is something that he doesn't ever want to lose.


	6. Mouth

He watches her yawn as they sit in the library, his eyes are immediately drawn to her mouth and he smiles to himself. He watches as she applies candy flavored chap stick and he laughs as he realizes that it's cherry and that just last week he told her how much he loved that certain taste. It was nice to know that she remembered such small things; it is those ideas that mean the most to him.

Remus believes that Nymphadora tastes like heaven. This is quite a thing to use as his choice of description, for if she knew, it would be a lot to live up to each time they kissed. As of now he has not told her, it's his own private secret that keeps him smiling as he remembers when he's sleeping on the cold, stone floor of the underground after a day of trying reconnaissance.

Sometimes when they're sitting at home on the couch he'll bring up a subject that he knows she enjoys speaking on just so that he can listen to her. She will ramble on and on about music, Quidditch or infiltrating muggle bars (each of which he is no expert on, so he usually doesn't need to interject his own opinions, merely watch her gesticulate animatedly and smile). At night she will whisper to him before they sleep, she tells him about her day, how much she cares for him, little things. He delights in those most of all.

What completely blows him away is when he's returned from an especially harrowing transformation and she's standing there waiting for him. She murmurs how he will be alright, and how she is going to help him, and every new scar he has obtained for various reasons receives a gentle kiss. He wants to cry then, sometimes his eyes even do glaze over with years of unshed tears, but he doesn't want to upset Nymphadora; the fact that someone would want to be so close to him knowing what he is is astounding enough, but to feel her gentle, calming lips on his scars, something that he himself professes to find grotesque, is enough to make him wonder (and worry) if this is not really real, or if he actually is so lucky to have this incredible woman for his own.

Unlike her loud appearance, when she speaks to him she's very quiet as if she's afraid she might wake herself up from the dream that is her relationship with a certain werewolf. He likes this for it shows that she does know how to be mature despite her exterior, it gives him a sense of reassurance that she means what she says and that she would never go back on her word. She could tell him anything and a part of him would believe it; but when she tells him she loves him, his entire being is filled with joy that he should be so loved, and the grief and self-hatred that have made their perch on his heart slowly begin to melt away.


	7. Back

Nymphadora leans into her pillow with a yawn, laughing quietly as she feels Lupin's fingers conduct a journey across the muscles of her back while they lay on their bed basking in the remnant of what they just shared. Said fingers dip down across her shoulder blades and she sighs, her kaleidoscope eyes closing momentarily to let a sigh escape and he smiles. The smile is warm, and reaches his eyes for the first time in a long while. His eyes travel across the expanse of skin until they reach the crumpled cotton sheet that's posing for haphazard modesty.

She has scars too. Not only the mental and emotional ones inflicted by those in her family but also from those relatives of hers whom she has to fight so hard against. He doesn't know why, but it makes him feel good to know that she has her share of scars, which he enjoys tracing with his fingers almost as much as Nymphadora enjoys tracing his with her lips. He supposes it makes him feel _that_ much more normal, as if the raised skin that crisscrosses over his entire body isn't _too_ much of an oddity.

He asks her why she doesn't just morph to change them, saying that he wouldn't judge her if she chose to as he feels that if he had the chance he would cover them up. He tells her it wouldn't be for vanity, that if she wanted to she could, he feels that perhaps she doesn't because she would feel bad afterwards that she could rid herself of the ugly deformities and he could not.

His feeling are eased to the point of foolishness as she laughs and her eyes open and have changed to the colour of chocolate and shetells him she thinks that the scars show strength and courage, that they make her feel that what she's doing really does help them (even if the one nearest her left hip came from tripping over the coat rack and near impaling herself on one of her own upturned stiletto heels).

She says she doesn't want to be a doll.

A sort of warm, hazy feeling overcomes him and he feels his lips break into a smile for the second time that night as he takes her in his arms once more and they roll back underneath the sheets.


	8. Hair

Nymphadora's hair is completely intriguing to him. He's found that if he looks very closely, it's never _really _the same shade twice. He laughs at this because it seems so Nymphadora-like to him, unique but so subtly so that you would really have to know the woman intimately before all facets of her personality were revealed.

Remus has learned that the happiness she shows to Molly is not the same as the one shown to Kingsley or himself. Just as her hair may be navy three days in a row but if he looks closely the one on Tuesday may have a more yellow undertone just as Thursday's may have a greener.

He loves this.

He could sit beside her for hours, examining each colourful strand for the differences from the day before and memorizing today's colour for comparison tomorrow. He wishes that he could spend his life merely studying this woman.

He sees this differentiation of colour as a silent way of expressing herself (even if she already does with everything else). Remus finds himself jealous of this, for he lives in constant fear of expression, even in the smallest ways as she does here.

He hopes that one day he might learn how to forget his fears, and truly _live_, but for now he will do so vicariously through his fascinating nymph.


	9. Nose

A certain source of delight that Remus has found is cologne. Not because of the scent, he couldn't really care any less about that, merely the fact that once he has applied it to wherever he has, the woman getting dressed beside him immediately presses her nose their, inhaling deeply and giving off a euphoric smile.

Did he really smell that nice?

Is it the fragrance that is making him feel more human and male? Or is it the sight of Nymphadora's small nose pressed up against his shoulder that did it? He supposes that it's the latter and a smile the size of the Thames crosses his face as her nose drifts up towards his own, giving off an Eskimo kiss.

His nose is rather fond of Nymphadora's smell as well. Unlike most everything else (excluding her hands) it was always the same.

A combination of his favorite things: chocolate, rain and Nymphadora.

And maybe the perfume that she put on in the morning which usually was scented with cherries, like her chap stick, which he adores.

Nymphadora laughs as she looks at her shoulder only to see a certain werewolf's nose pressed against, inhaling the essence of Remus (which is mostly musty books, tea and chocolate, she couldn't care less about the cologne….)


	10. Torso

Nymphadora is stretching out on the couch; her navy sweater is hiking itself up to the base of her ribcage and Remus is ashamed as he catches himself admiring the way her torso moves as her back arches. He fights the blush that threatens to spread across his face and he immediately looks down at the book he was supposedly reading before the extreme distraction. It is no use, his concentration has been interrupted and he closes his eyes, the image of her pale skin burning behind his eyelids.

She is so beautiful to him; so strong. She is muscular, yet small; at least in the form she chooses to use. He has never asked her if this is what she really looks like, as he's sure that if she shields herself with such outlandish hair colours, eye colours and styles it might just be like the subject of lycanthropy to him. Therefore, he had never broached the subject, and probably would not lest she bring it up herself.

It's times like these that he lets his imagination run wild. Images and memories danced across his mind of experiences shared, times had, and things done together…these were the things that his happiness was built upon. His mouth curved up into a small smile, at least the corners, small enough that his nymph would not see and question his joy.

It is also at this time that he dreams; well, day-dreams about what life would be like if they had a certain future with each other. She always argues that they do, but he is not so sure sometimes (even though he'd like to be). He sees a small cottage, somewhere near a dense forest, somewhere that they both feel quite at home. Flowers are everywhere in every colour of the rainbow, reflecting her personality and love for the unique. He envisions the both of them standing outside of the door, his arm about her waist and the love is emanating off of the both of them. Remus is smiling down at his _wife_, as she's got a ring on her finger, and Nymphadora turns to the side to fix a fallen honeysuckle vine.

There is certain roundness to her stomach, which he is stroking lovingly.

He smiles through his dream, delight would be evident in his eyes were they open. Though he would have his qualms about all of this happening in reality, in his dreams they are both safe from him inflicting harm upon them; they can live happily ever after without fear or want or needing something they cannot have.

Nymphadora sees his smile and gives one of her own as she thinks about the thing she has yet to tell him.


	11. Ears

Nymphadora's ears are closed to his apologies right now and he feels a right bastard. Her ears have heard everything from him. His manifestations of love, his protests at how their relationship could possibly work, dirty jokes from Sirius that are now lodged in the back of both of their minds. Right now however, her ears are ringing with his latest objections to her latest surprise.

Remus' ears have heard every contradiction to his standpoints that the world has to offer. "You're taking a ridiculous line…" from Molly, "…more love in the world…" from Minerva, and now from some of his past students (and part of the Weasley clan) that "it's about time you had a family!"

He creeps up the staircase, stealing into their bedroom and seeing one of her small ears peeking out from underneath the blue flannel sheets he has grown so accustomed to wrapping himself in during the night. He knows that her body will be stony against him, because of the hurt he has put her through and for that he feels completely and utterly ashamed.

Slowly he crawls into their small bed, taking her hand in his, tucking a foot in between her ankles, closing his eyes as he wraps his arms around her tightly and sliding a leg over hers.

Gently he kisses the back of her neck, stroking his fingers across her back and up into her hair, turning her gently in order to kiss her nose and stroke at her torso gently.

And then, _then _Nymphadora's ears hear the words of complete and utter joy that she had been waiting to hear since her announcement, and her whole entire being lights up with elation and in one fluid movement and many aching moments later she has forgiven him.

**Eeee! Sorry for the delay! My internet went out, but at least I got it done eh!**

** 33333**

**Thank you so much for the reviews!**


	12. Author's Notice :D

**Ok, after watching what has got to be the official most horrible film ever to be made ('The Notebook', and it's probably only so because I've watched a billion and one movies, and have strong opinions on what's good and not, and the fact that I read the book and this was NOTHING like it at ALL!).**

**Anyway, I noticed all of the reviews and that made me so happy! Thank you so much! **

**Since this is complete, I'm wondering if perhaps I ought to make a sequel? Perhaps during the pregnancy?**

**If so, I would appreciate any ideas, tips or thoughts on which writing style it should be done in (this way month by month, just randomized with lots of dialogue, combination etc...) so I can get my mind a-thinkin'!**

**Love to you all, thank you so much for the support! **

**-Gladiola.**

**P.S. Feel free to e-mail me or you can always IM me at obligatorysmooch on AIM. Thank you much! **


End file.
